


The Undone And The Divine

by tinybabydeer



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bad Boy!Zayn, Catholic School, Dirty Talk, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Nerd!Niall, Religious Guilt, Schoolboys, Teacher-Student Relationship, coercion if you squint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 17:01:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3331736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinybabydeer/pseuds/tinybabydeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>This is as good a place to fall as any</i>
  <br/>
  <i>We'll build our alter here</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Make me your Maria</i>
  <br/>
  <i>I'm already on my knees</i>
  <br/>
  <i>You had Jesus on your breath</i>
  <br/>
  <i>And I caught him in mine</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Sweating our confessions</i>
  <br/>
  <i>The undone and the divine</i>
</p><p>Everything changes when Zayn becomes Niall's roommate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Undone And The Divine

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been living in my brain for quite some time.
> 
> Warnings: This is set in Catholic school. It is also filthy. I never went to Catholic school and haven't been to church in 20 years (which is probably obvious). Please suspend your disbelief as much as you can.
> 
> There are relations, and while they feature consenting parties, they could possibly be seen as coerced or slightly manipulative, so if you are sensitive to that, feel free to dip.
> 
> Thank you to Alyssa and Jen as always for being my greatest cheerleaders.
> 
> Fic title is from Bedroom Hymns by Florence + The Machine, chapter title is from Take Me To Church by Hozier

Niall Horan had a pretty good handle on his life.

He’d just started his last year at college, and he’s had a great time. St. Ruadhán’s treated him fine, his marks are good, he’s an active member at the music conservatory and helped them land plenty of trophies in their competitions, he has loads of mates, and things are pretty even-keel, as far as school can go.

He calls his mother regularly, his room is tidy and his socks are always clean. He helped one of the sisters across the street the other day. He’s been called “a pleasure to have in class” by just about every teacher he’s ever had.

So what did he do to deserve being punished like this? 

Why was Zayn Malik, of all the people in the world, asleep on his bed?

It wasn’t that Niall didn’t like him, no. In fact, if you squinted, it might look like Niall was kind of obsessed with him. Not that Niall ever dared talk about Zayn to anyone, of course, that would be _weird_.

Okay, he wasn’t _obsessed_ , he was just… fascinated. Zayn had shown up at the college a month into the school year, all dark and moody and dangerous-looking. Niall didn’t know anyone who’d really talked to him, but hearsay had it that his parents sent him here to be reformed after previous delinquency. Fat lot of good to try to reform someone in their last year of college, Niall thought, but hearing rumors ranging from graffiti to grand theft auto kept his mouth shut.

And Zayn, Zayn was beautiful, like angels are. He looked a bit like Jesus, actually, which made for some confusing feelings twist deep and swooping in Niall’s gut during mass as he stared up at the crucifixion. He’s got long eyelashes, like a girl’s ought to be, and had to shave every day, and always looked so cool and unaffected and mysterious. Niall couldn’t stop staring at him and wished he’d sit ahead of him in class so he could do it more often. 

He saw him laugh once, talking to someone and sneaking a cigarette out on the grounds. His face had gone scrunchy in the middle and his teeth were white and straight and it was so shocking that Niall had dropped his books mid-step. He blushed hot and scrambled to pick them up, but as he jogged the rest of the way to class, he saw Zayn looking at him curiously out of the corner of his eye. He’d liked that.

He’d liked that a lot.

It was normal, he was sure. Zayn was just charismatic and magnetic in ways that people just _weren’t_ around here. Niall had never seen anything like him. He wanted to talk to him, he wanted to know what his favorite foods were, he wanted to know whether he’d actually ever punched a cop or if Sean was full of shit. He’d thought about these things, but he never planned on going through with any of them.

But now it’d all gone out the window because Zayn Malik was asleep on his bed.

Maybe he’d gotten lost and forgot which room was his, Niall thought frantically, frozen in the doorway. He hadn’t had a roommate all year due to a small fourth-year class and a good school record, and rather liked it. It meant he could keep this things organized, sort out the room the way he liked it, keep his own hours with no one barging in or making noise when he was trying to sleep. 

Speaking of, it was at that very moment when Zayn’s impossibly long eyelashes twitched and fluttered open and suddenly Niall was making eye contact with him and time was standing still.

“Oh, hey,” Zayn mumbled, sleep slow and froggy-sounding. He rubbed at his eyes with a knuckle and pushed up from the bed, looking reluctant to be awake at all. “Niall, right?”

Niall blinked rapidly, struggling to find his voice. He knew his _name_ , how did he know his name?

“Um, yeah,” Niall managed finally, after a too-long pause.

“I’m your new roommate, I guess,” Zayn said, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed. He was still in his shoes, Niall realized, feeling irrational annoyance bubble up in his chest.

“Oh. I think that’s your bed,” Niall said lamely, pointing at the neatly-made, unused one on the other side of the room. Third- and fourth-year students got separate beds, not bunked like the underclassmen did. Zayn blinked slowly and looked at it.

“Oh,” he said finally. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Niall said immediately. Silence fell over the two of them, awkward and suffocating. This wasn’t how Niall wanted their first conversation to go. In fact, he was kind of praying for the ground to open up beneath him and swallow him whole. He settled on the next best thing.

“I actually have to go to the library, but it was nice to meet you,” Niall said in a rush, grabbing his bookbag from its place next to his desk. Zayn’s brow furrowed quizzically. 

“But it’s Saturday.” He said slowly, like he was not getting a joke that Niall was making. Niall stared back at him.

“The library is open on the weekends.” Niall replied, feeling about the same.

They stared at each other for another long moment, until Niall couldn’t stand it anymore and broke his gaze.

“Um, see you later I guess!” he said over his shoulder as he fled the room, hating himself every step of the way. This was already a nightmare. 

Rest in peace, Niall Horan. He would never survive the year at this rate.

\---

Niall was halfway to the library (he figured he might as well study at this point), mind buzzing like a hive of bees, when he ran head-on into what felt like a brick wall.

“Ah- sorry- oh, hey! Howiya, Niall?”

Niall blinked upward, rubbing his bruised nose but unable to stop the grin from cracking his face. Mr. Breslin wasn’t quite a brick wall, but only just. He towered nearly a foot above Niall and was built like a draft horse. He’d been Niall’s guitar teacher at the conservatory since the beginning of third year, and had taken it upon himself to mentor Niall a bit. Niall wasn’t complaining, Bres was the youngest teaching at the school and easily the coolest among the stuffy sisters and overbearing professors. 

“Hey ya, Bressie, I’m alright, despite breaking my poor beak on your big ol’ shoulder.” Niall sniffed, taking the mick. Bressie snorted but glanced up as another teacher walked by, nodding at the two of them stiffly.

“‘Ey, it’s Mr. Breslin, alright? I don’t need you getting me in trouble for fraternizing.” Bressie said, only getting halfway to stern before a telltale smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth. Niall snickered but disguised it well enough as a cough behind his hand. Bressie rolled his eyes a bit. “Really though, what’re you up to, running around like a chicken with its head off?”

Niall’s smile fell a bit as he remembered what, or rather who, was currently happening in his room. “Oh, just going to the library for some studying. Have it on good word there’s gonna be a quiz in Irish and Maths on Monday and figured I may as well get a head start.” He shrugged, the lie falling from his mouth easily. Almost too easily, he noted with a wince. Bressie clapped him on the shoulder, nearly knocking him off his feet.

“Ah, don’t look like that, I know your marks are excellent, you’ll do fine.” Bressie said warmly, and Niall could feel his cheeks pink as he smiled gratefully in response, feeling something bubble effervescently in his chest. 

“Now g’wan with ya, I’ve got work to do, stop distracting me.” Bressie waved him off, still grinning.

Niall jogged the rest of the way to the library, and let himself forget about Zayn Malik entirely as he buried himself in his books.

\---

It was late by the time Niall finally packed up, yawning and cracking the joints in his back. He’d missed the dinner hour but wasn’t terribly bothered, seeing as he knew he had an apple or something back in his-

Oh, right. His room.

His face flushed with annoyance and embarrassment as it all came rushing back. This was God’s punishment for acting inappropriately, he was sure. So be it, living with Zayn will surely discourage him from this idol worship. He must be flawed, he probably snores. His feet stink, or something. He’s not the cool rebel without a cause he tries to be. Just a run of the mill reformer, a delinquent with nothing better to do than sneak cigarettes and fuel rumors.

As he approached the steps of the wing of his dorm, Niall couldn’t help the guilty lump that formed in his gut. It wasn’t fair of him to think those things of Zayn just because he was being put out of having a nice empty dorm. 

Niall played restlessly with his room key before finally sighing and unlocking the door, swinging it open. Maybe Zayn was actually a really nice person, underneath all the-

Tattoos.

Niall’s jaw physically dropped, gaping at Zayn’s bare back. He was changing into a loose pyjama shirt, hair still damp from the shower he must have just taken, and there were dark swaths of ink across his upper arms and shoulders, damp and shining in the fluorescent dorm lighting. He turned, eyes curious at the sound of the door slowly swinging shut behind Niall with a loud clack, and then offered a little wave.

There were even more tattoos on his front, something across the lines of his clavicle and a black heart on his skinny hip, stark against the olive glow of his skin. Suddenly, the ink was hidden as the shirt fell down around him, and Niall could hear Zayn cough quietly, “What’s up?”

Niall was staring. He had totally been staring, oh no. He blinked rapidly, shaking his head like he was trying to snap himself out of a daze. 

“Oh, uh, hi, sorry, I didn’t- I would’ve knocked-” he babbled, thumbing at the door behind him and blushing deeper as Zayn’s brow furrowed in confusion. It seemed to do that a lot around him.

“It’s alright, it’s your room.” Zayn said easily, rolling a shoulder and turning to dig something out of his bag. He’d set up his side of the room a bit in Niall’s absence, a couple knickknacks, a surprising amount of books, a filthy looking ashtray that made Niall nervous.

“R-right.” Niall responded lamely, tossing his own bag down on the ground by his bed and awkwardly sitting down, untying his shoes and toeing them off in the general direction of the door. He changed into sweatpants and an old shirt facing away from Zayn, ignoring the burning feeling at the back of his neck, like he was being stared at. By the time he’d turned back around, Zayn was reading his book like he didn’t even notice Niall was there. Niall’s imagination was getting away with him, he thought, exhaling slowly to calm his nerves. He grabbed his washroom caddy, wanting to scrub the day away and climb into bed as soon as possible, but something held him back as he turned to leave. Hand hovering over the doorknob, he finally turned just enough to peek at Zayn over his shoulder.

“Did they hurt?” he asked shyly, hating the way his voice cracked.

Zayn paused in his reading and glanced up at Niall, questioning and wary. Niall’s eyes flicked down in the general direction of his chest and shoulders, cheeks warming at the memory of the mysterious, intricate designs that were so completely hidden by his sleeves.

A small smile twitched across Zayn’s face. 

“Every time.” He said softly, blinking at Niall with something that felt strange and heady and settled heavily in Niall’s gut. Niall sucked in a breath and left, heading towards to loo without another word. 

He felt dizzy as he washed his face and brushed his teeth, mind whirling around nonsensical words and images, and by the time he collected himself enough and returned to the room, Zayn was already asleep, the light still on. 

It took a long time for Niall to follow his lead, staring at the ceiling and trying to make sense of the thoughts in his head.

What _was_ Zayn?

\---

Niall woke up early for mass, managing to get in line for a shower before it got too crowded. Dennis from Irish class caught his elbow as he filed into line, grinning and looking way too excited for 7AM.

“Niall, is it true that Zayn Malik’s your new roommate?” He said, voice hushed conspiratorially but still loud enough that several curious pairs of eyes turned their way.

Niall blushed a bit, avoiding their gazes awkwardly. “Er, yeah, I suppose it is,” he replied, shuffling forward in the queue, kind of wishing he could escape, but he really needed this shower. 

“Is it true he has a switchblade?” Dennis asked, eyes wide.

Niall scoffed a surprised laugh. “No! I mean, I don’t think so?”

“Did he tell you to say that? I heard he threatened to put his cigarette out on Robbie when he caught him smoking,” a voice butted in from down the line before swiftly getting hushed.

“Atu said his brother knows his family and they sent him here because he stabbed a bloke in a fight,” another voice jumped in, before every person in the line was talking over each other, exchanging rumors, each one more outrageous than the last. Niall’s head was spinning and he offered a grateful prayer as it was finally his turn for a shower.

Zayn was already gone from the room by the time Niall left the shower and escaped the imploring questions and Niall couldn’t say that he wasn’t thankful for it.

Mass wasn’t much better. Niall slid in to sit next to his friends as usual, hoping for respite and was met with more wide eyes and expectantly raised brows. He managed to stall their questions and admittedly breathed a sigh of relief once the service started. If he thought that living with Zayn was going to be a stress in his life, dealing with the people who wanted to know what it was _like_ living with Zayn was even worse.

Later, over breakfast, he managed to convince most of his mates that no, as far as he knew Zayn did not own a knife, or a gun, or knuckledusters like an American gangster. It took them even more time to believe that he hadn’t threatened Niall once, or beaten him up. He avoided answering an inquiry about whether or not Zayn really was covered head-to-toe in tattoos (because he wasn’t sure he could believably blush his way through answering that) by loudly announcing he wasn’t their personal source for Zayn Malik updates.

Naturally, it was at this moment that Zayn came wandering through the mess hall with a couple of people that Niall didn’t know in tow. Niall couldn’t be sure if Zayn heard him or not, but his heart jumped painfully as Zayn looked in his direction, making eye contact for a split second. The embarrassment was not alleviated as the other boys noticed him as well and started whisper-shrieking about how Zayn heard them talking and was going to kill all of them, dissolving into laughter and dramatic embracing.

Niall kept his head down, cheeks burning as he stared at the remains of his breakfast, trying valiantly to ignore the desire to defend Zayn rising in his throat like bile. They weren’t friends, they didn’t even know each other. As far as Niall knew, all those rumors were true. 

But he found himself fiercely biting the inside of his cheek to keep from saying “he’s not like that, you don’t even know him.”

Niall didn’t know him either.

\---

A strange sort of… break in their tepid relationship happened that week, just a few short days later.

Zayn had been more agitated than usual, cold and aloof in the room in the few short hours they shared together. Niall had come back from practice to find Zayn smoking out the window, hidden from any eyes outside by the tree line along the west side of campus. Niall floundered briefly, trying desperately to seem cool about it, but somehow managed to grit out a halfway-normal greeting and sat down to work on his history paper in spite of the lingering smoke. He could see Zayn appraising him out of the corner of his eye and resisted the urge to bite his nails about it.

The energy remained tense, and Niall started to get worried that it was something he’d done. Maybe his socks smelled, or Zayn was sick of Niall staying up all night working (though he seemed to sleep pretty soundly through it). He was on the verge of making himself sick with worry when Thursday morning, he got up for class and Zayn was already gone from the room. It was odd, considering they had their morning class together that day, an early Religious Studies class that preempted breakfast due to the professor being an absolute nutter for punctuality. 

Niall got dressed quickly, skipping his shower and trying not to nervously peek at Zayn’s empty bed. It wasn’t like they’d ever actually walked to class together, but they typically meandered in around the same time, crossing paths once or twice on the way. Niall had no idea what route Zayn took to somehow avoid Niall completely and also get there precisely on time, but he suspected there was some sort of magic involved.

Niall jogged out of the room, shouldering his bag and shutting the heavy dorm door behind him with a loud click. Most of their hall was at breakfast, and Niall’s stomach whined in jealousy at the thought. Thursdays were brutal.

As he made his way to the staircase, he heard the rumble of a voice from the Resident Assistant’s office at the end of the hall. The door was open, and from his angle, Niall could see the back and broad shoulders of the source of the noise. His head was dipped forward, talking tersely on the phone that was available to students during family emergencies in what Niall was realizing was a language he didn’t understand. The Resident Assistant was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, the speaker’s head lifted and he turned with a frustrated sounding noise, running a hand through a shock of dark hair that was just a shade too long for Saint Ruadhán’s standards. It was Zayn. Of course.

Niall tensed, heart thudding and then jumping hard when Zayn looked up, hazel-brown eyes meeting his sharply. His gaze narrowed to something challenging, unreadable, and Niall gulped dryly before nearly stumbling over himself to make his way down the stairs. _Real slick, Horan_ , he thought bitterly, shame burning on his face.

He was still flushed and ruffled by the time he got to class, barely making it in time. Professor Ivers clucked his tongue and marked his name on a sheet of paper. Niall slid into his seat on the side of the room, heaving a shaky breath. As the clamor of the students hushed, Ivers looked from his sheet to the only empty seat in the classroom. Niall’s stomach dropped.

“Has anyone seen Mr. Malik?” Ivers intoned, scratching idly at his chin, sounding threateningly calm. 

Silence hung over the room, eyes darting back and forth meaningfully. Looking between some of the raised eyebrows and rolled eyes, Niall could feel his hackles rising. He could practically hear the ‘told you so’s in the air, even Ivers didn’t look particularly surprised. It wasn’t fair, Zayn was dealing with… something, he wasn’t just wagging off. Why did people keep assuming the worst of him?

“He’s poorly.”

Heads turned slowly in Niall’s direction as soon as the words left his mouth. He didn’t even get a chance to register what he’d said before Iver’s steely grey eyes were trained on him.

“Is this true, Mr. Horan?” Ivers said, sounding just a touch incredulous. Niall knew that it probably looked mad, defending him, but he couldn’t stop.

“Yes, he’s my roommate, he was sick all night. I can bring the notes to him for later.” He said firmly, almost believing himself with the amount of conviction he found in his voice. Ivers considered him for a long moment before raising his caterpillary brows and shrugging and turning to the board.

Niall let out a breath and felt himself sink down in his seat, cheeks hot, determined to lay low the rest of class.

The bell finally rang and Niall had never been more grateful to be getting away from a classroom. He didn’t know what had come over him these past few days, that was twice he’d blatantly lied to a professor for… what? Zayn?

Gathering his books in a rush, Niall wasn’t paying attention and, of course, ran smack into Zayn himself as he tried to exit the room. Zayn had the courtesy to look as surprised as Niall felt and they stood for a long moment gaping at each other.

“Mr. Malik! I hope you are feeling better, yes?” Ivers barked from his desk, rearranging his notes.

Zayn blinked at him with an “Uhh.” Niall wished he had telepathy.

“Yes, I told Professor Ivers that you were poorly this morning, don’t worry, I got the notes for you,” Niall said in a desperate rush, giving Zayn a pleading look out of Ivers’ sightline. Zayn stared at him, brow furrowed. Luckily, because of… whatever had been up, Zayn did actually look slightly ill. It didn’t change how shockingly handsome his face was, in fact, the dark circles under his eyes only made him look more striking, but at least Niall didn’t appear to be too obviously talking out of his arse.

“Er… yeah, thanks Niall,” Zayn finally managed, coughing convincingly. Not quite the right sickness, but it would do. “Sorry Professor, I’ll be here on time next week.”

Ivers waved them off with some sort of dismissal but Niall was already pulling Zayn away down the hall.

“Sorry, sorry, I just- I didn’t mean to-” Niall stammered, flailing obviously and letting go of Zayn’s arm with a flinch when he realized he was still holding onto it. He struggled to find his voice, but was unable to utter more than a squeak when he looked up to see Zayn staring at him, intense as anything.

“Why did you do that?” Zayn said softly, levelly. He didn’t sound mad, but Niall twitched nervously anyway.

“I just… I saw you on the phone, I thought it might be a family emergency, I didn’t want you to get in trouble.” Niall’s voice trailed off into nothing by the end of his sentence. His heart was pounding like he was a rabbit in a trap, and he didn’t even know why. Zayn continued to stare at him, eyes unreadable.

The silence hung between them, and just as Niall was about to excuse himself to go flush his entire body down one of the hall toilets, Zayn blinked and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a knuckle.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, eyes darting away like he wasn’t sure of himself. Niall stared at him, not sure what he was hearing.

“I know I haven’t been a good roommate, like,” Zayn said, staring at something down the hall, avoiding Niall’s gaze. “But that was really cool of you. Thanks.”

Niall felt like there was a balloon slowly filling in his chest, pressing against his ribs and making his heart beat doubletime. A grin twitched across his face, unbidden. 

“O-of course! You haven’t been a bad roommate, I promise! I just didn’t- y’know. I hope everything’s okay.” He said in a rush before his courage failed him. Zayn finally glanced back at him, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but still not quite reaching his eyes.

“It’s alright. Just homesick.” Zayn said, shrugging and rolling his shoulder awkwardly at the unusually candid comment. Niall blinked and felt something surge, wild and hot in his chest. He didn’t even consider Zayn might be homesick, of all things. He knew he lived ages away, but he did such a good job acting so cool and distant that Niall would have never even thought he had normal human emotions like the rest of them. 

“I’m sorry,” Niall said genuinely, brows furrowing. “That- that sucks, Zayn.”

Zayn shrugged again and seemed to collect himself, standing a little taller and staring at something in the distance again. The walls fell back into place, much to Niall’s confusing disappointment. 

“‘Salright, no big deal.” Zayn replied, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. Silence fell over them again, less tense than before, until Niall exclaimed aloud.

“Oh! I do actually have the notes for you, here-” He dug out the looseleaf from his bag and held them out to Zayn, knowing his cheeks were pinking. Zayn smirked a bit and accepted the papers, looking at them briefly before tsking and putting them in his own bag carefully.

“Thanks Niall,” Zayn said, something twinkling in his eyes. Or maybe Niall was imagining it, falling under the bizarre spell of Zayn’s influence. He blinked rapidly, nodding.

“Of course,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He needed to get it together. He needed to get to class. “See you around, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Zayn said, smiling at him. It felt like a real smile this time. Niall smiled back before he could stop himself, and turned on his heel. He was going to be late for his next class, and there was no one who would excuse him there. 

He couldn’t bring himself to mind.

\---

Days passed.

Things got… more normal, if not particularly friendly. They both woke up around the same time, grunted greetings and stayed out of each other’s way. They had three classes together, but didn’t sit next to each other or talk, obviously. Niall had conservatory and guitar practice and played footie with the lads after classes and didn’t see much of Zayn at all. His friends stopped asking for dirt on Zayn once it became obvious they weren’t going to get any gossip from him. Things seemed to be falling into place, rather anticlimactically. 

Zayn wasn’t nearly as dark or mysterious as his reputation made him out to be. Granted, Niall still didn’t know anything about him, and hadn’t had a conversation with him of more than ten or fifteen words since the phone incident, but for the most part, Zayn was quiet and maintained a respectful peace in the dorm. He read comic books, for Pete’s sake. Once or twice, Zayn would show up so late for bed that Niall was already asleep by the time he got in, but it wasn’t Niall’s business. And, okay, once in a while Niall caught Zayn staring at him strangely from the corner of his eye, but it wasn’t a big deal. They lived in the same room, it was bound to happen, right?

He kept his head down, and one night as they were silently doing coursework at their respective desks, Niall smiled to himself and let the warm burn of just-slightly-smug satisfaction burn in his chest. This was fine. Everything was going to be fine.

Naturally, it was that night that things went horribly, horribly wrong.

Niall turned in before Zayn did, the light from his desk casting a warm glow over the otherwise darkened room. Niall bid him a ‘good night’, which Zayn returned with a noncommittal hum. Niall shrugged. He’d take it.

He fell asleep almost immediately, and woke up in the dark, feeling like only minutes had passed.

The room was pitch black, a faint white-blue glow coming from what little starlight was seeping through the window. Niall, disoriented, couldn’t figure out what had woken him, when he heard something coming from the other side of the room.

He froze, suddenly alert, ears pricked and struggling to catch the noise again. It was quiet, a muffled rustle, and Niall’s mind started spinning with possibilities (rats? burglar?), but the noise continued steadily and began ruling out all the wild ideas he was coming to.

He was just about to sit up to investigate when he heard Zayn shift in his bed restlessly, and fell still out of habit. As Zayn adjusted, the noise was gone, and then picked back up as the room fell quiet.

Niall felt a prickling on the back of his neck, his heart pounding uncomfortably against his ribs. His mind was moving slowly, not quite putting what he was hearing in an order that made sense. He felt like he was about to realize something.

His epiphany came in the form of a small, nearly silent sigh, one he would have easily missed if his ears weren’t perked up like a dog’s waiting for a command. His eyes widened and he couldn’t stop himself from whipping a hand to his mouth to keep from gasping out loud.

Oh. Zayn was _masturbating_.

Niall’s cheeks were aflame in the pitch black of the room, burning so hot he could feel it in his eyes. Of course he was, it wasn’t weird, it’s more weird that it hadn’t happened already, right? The lads were always joking around about this kind of thing, it happened a lot, boys were going to be boys, he thought feverishly, desperately trying to block out the sound of the shifting blankets. The pace had increased, more obvious now, like Zayn didn’t care so much about being quiet, like he thought Niall was still asleep. Like maybe he couldn’t help himself.

Niall struggled to keep still, not wanting to let on that he was awake even as adrenaline was sparking through his body like a live wire. Something low in his stomach twisted, and a deep throb coursed through his gut as Zayn exhaled again, a little louder this time. Niall’s treacherous body was reacting to this, he realized, feeling a little sick with shame. He tried frantically to think of anything, maths, football scores, rotting garbage, something to distract himself from the increasingly insistent ache in his groin, but as Zayn’s hand picked up speed, it was becoming a futile effort.

Niall couldn’t stop listening, morbidly fascinated by the way he could hear Zayn’s breath catch with each shuffling motion beneath his sheets. Niall’s bed was (blessedly) facing away from Zayn’s side, so he couldn’t see his face, but Niall wondered what it looked like. Would it be soft and unguarded, like Zayn’s was while he slept, or would it be knit together with concentration? Niall nearly lost his breath imagining it.

Suddenly, it was happening. Niall could hear several quick, desperate strokes and then a barely audible “ _Ah_ -” and it was like the air in the room had vanished. Niall’s heart pounded deafeningly in his ears, his eyes wide and staring at the wall in front of him blindly and he felt a dizzying swoop of arousal kick between his legs and before he could stop himself, he was pressing the heel of his hand hard against his erection to keep from coming right then.

Silence fell over the room, save for their quiet breathing. And then,

“Niall?”

Niall lay frozen like stone, panic rearing in his chest at the whisper-quiet voice. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his breath to regulate and calm, and after several agonizing seconds, the tension in the room released. Zayn huffed a breath, and Niall could hear him shuffle in bed before reaching out and pulling several tissues from his nightstand. Niall’s ears burned as he could hear the muffled sounds of what must have been Zayn cleaning up after himself, and struggled to keep still, pulse still pounding in his throat hard enough to choke him.

After a moment, Zayn got up from his bed and Niall could hear him padding away, barefooted, and open the door and head down the hall to the loo, and just like that, Niall was left alone with the roaring tide of his thoughts.

What had just happened, what was that, why had he reacted that way? Niall released the pressure on his groin with a shaky breath, refusing to acknowledge it or succumb to his body’s stupid, nonsensical desires. What was coming over him?

Zayn returned to the room after a minute or two, collapsing back into bed, and if his snores were any indication, was fast asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Niall laid awake, staring at the wall, and prayed until he fell asleep, dreaming fitfully of wolves and stars and snapping, pearly teeth.

\---

The next morning, Niall woke feeling like he hadn’t slept at all. His head ached and his eyes felt full of sand, which was so distracting he nearly forgot about the reason he slept so poorly in the first place. That is, of course, until he stood from bed to see Zayn already returning from the shower, water dripping from his hair and leaving translucent spots on the shoulders of his white undershirt.

Niall froze, heart leaping into his throat, and Zayn appraised him, brow furrowing slightly. “Alright, Niall? You look... tired.” If Niall looked anything like he felt, that was a very generous comment on Zayn’s part.

“Ah, yeah, just didn’t sleep that well,” Niall said in a rush, running a hand through his hair, which only made the state of it worse. Zayn blinked at him and then suddenly, his eyes went bright and interested, which made Niall nervous.

“You didn’t sleep well?” Zayn asked, and something about the way he said it sounded loaded. Niall gulped.

“Um-”

Zayn shifted his stance, facing Niall more directly, staring at him with an unreadable, curious heat.

“You’re blushing,” Zayn said then, a tiny smile licking at the corners of his mouth.

Niall, of course, blushed harder and turned abruptly, grabbing his bath caddy and all but running out the door. “I’m- I’m gonna be late for class-” he called over his shoulder frantically. 

Niall used to watch a lot of nature programs back home, liking the way David Attenborough talked about the way the animal kingdom worked in perfect time with itself, a delicate balance. He always ended up watching the ones about Africa the most. He thought of them suddenly, and it hit him like a ton of bricks.

He stood trembling like a leaf in the shower stall, feeling hot all over. He recognized the look in Zayn’s eyes. It was just like a lion’s when they caught sight of their prey, when it smelled the weakness on it. Zayn knew he’d heard. He knew he’d liked it.

Niall reached out and turned on the water as cold as it would go.

\---

He didn’t see Zayn during the school day, thankfully. It was one of the few days where they didn’t share any classes, and Niall was counting his blessings because he didn’t think he could look him in the eye. His head was spinning, whirling on itself until nothing he was thinking made any sense at all. He was distracted during class and blushed furiously as his professor snapped at him for staring out the window for the third time that day. This wasn't like him. 

At least today was a conservatory day. Niall practically jogged to the music building, guitar bouncing against his shoulder. He couldn't talk to Bressie about... this, but a friendly face couldn't hurt either. 

"Hey ya, Brez?" Niall chirped, poking his head into the lesson room. 

"Oy, Niall, you're early! That eager to see yer old pal Bressie then?" Bressie called from the back storage room, hidden somewhere among the countless instrument cases and filing cabinets full of sheet music. 

Niall laughed, flopping into one of the chairs and pulling out his beat up old guitar to tune it. It was a bit of a miracle that the thing played at all, Bressie had to completely restring it when Niall showed up on the first day of conservatory, which he did while mercilessly taking the piss out of him for instrument abuse. Niall gave as good as he got, though, and the two had become fast friends. 

"You wish, grandpa, you're just moving extra slow today. Don't aggravate your arthritis now," Niall said loudly, grinning at the bark of laughter he got in response. Bressie finally emerged from the room, rubbing the back of his hand against a slightly shiny brow. The sleeves on his shirt were rolled up and tight on his forearms, still corded with muscle from his bygone rugby days. His smile, crooked and school-boy charming as always, made something twist in his gut, nearly knocking the breath out of him.

He blinked rapidly as Bressie pulled up a seat next to him, feeling heat radiate from the collar of his shirt and his face flush for what must have been the eightieth time that day. No, no way. This wasn’t happening here, now.

Oh, Bressie was talking to him, oh no. 

“I mean, I told ‘im that I didn’t have any experience with tuning a bleedin’ harpsichord, but it’s his funeral, I guess. Or the harpsichord’s.” Bressie hummed thoughtfully, rubbing the back of his neck and looking contemplative. Niall knew he was staring, but he couldn’t figure out how to look away.

This was Bressie, his _friend_ Bressie. He looked the same as he always did, but Niall kept noticing the veins in his hands, the way the muscles in his neck worked as he turned his head to find sheet music, the way his shirt stretched tight across the planes of his broad shoulders-

“Niall?”

Niall jumped, eyes fluttering and finally meeting Bressie’s. “Um, yeah, sorry, what?” He asked weakly, hand loosening from the stranglehold he’d had on the guitar’s neck.

Bressie quirked a brow at him but continued, talking about the next piece he wanted them to work on. Niall let himself fall into it, shoving his treacherous thoughts as deeply as he could into the back of his mind. 

Music was easy to get lost in. It made sense to him in a way that nothing else did, not even his faith or his family. Music comforted him when he felt the most lost. It was a relief to bury himself in it now. He immersed himself in the chords, the way he had to arch his fingers against the frets in unfamiliar ways and the aching burn of setting the muscle memory of something new.

The chord went sour as his fingers missed their mark, and Niall winced, frowning and setting his tongue in his teeth. He tried again, but the note still went bad, and he couldn’t help the huff of frustration that escaped his mouth.

“Here-” Bressie leaned across the guitar, and suddenly his face was right near Niall’s, eyes focused on the strings as he moved Niall’s fingers just so. The pads of his fingers were rough with callouses, warm and dry and Niall was so, so aware of every single place Bressie was touching his hand.

He froze stock-still, his eyes wide as Bressie leaned back. Bressie grinned at him. “G’wan, try it now, chief.” Niall reached his other hand to the strings dumbly and strummed. The chord was perfect. Of course.

Bressie gave him a thumbs-up, smiling wide. “Congrats, mate! That’s the piece. You got this.”

Niall swallowed dryly, shakily returning the gesture. He really, really didn’t feel like he got this at all.

\---

He barely felt his feet hit the ground on his way back to his room. 

He was sailing, warm all over and frankly, about to lose his bleeding mind. This wasn’t what- this wasn’t how he was supposed to be feeling. Bressie is his friend and more importantly, his teacher, there was no way he could be feeling these butterflies over him like a moony-eyed teenager.

Guilt wracked his chest. Since he was young, he’d always… been a bit odd. He remembered watching movies with his brother, the old classics like Casablanca and Gone With The Wind, and while Greg always gushed about Ingrid Bergman, Niall had only identified with her, swooning in turn over Humphrey Bogart.

He never thought much of it, but the more time passed and the more he heard the way people talked about… people like him, liking boys, the more he shoved that away, tucked away in his mind. He figured something was wrong with him, like people born with diseases they can’t help, and as long as he didn’t tell anyone about it, he could live his life like normal. 

It had been working pretty well until Zayn Malik had to show up with his stupid face and his stupid eyes. It was going to ruin everything, this carefully constructed filing system of Niall’s thoughts and the secret, quiet desires he kept hidden under covers like furniture in the attic.

Niall barged into the dorm building, letting the door swing as he rushed up the stairs. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to talk to Zayn or punch him or kiss him-

But he didn’t have time to decide as he burst into their room to find Zayn standing there, looking only slightly alarmed at Niall’s abrupt entrance. Niall could actually feel the wind being taken out of his sails as he stilled, staring at Zayn. 

“Um, hi,” he squeaked, swinging his arms awkwardly. Zayn blinked and looked him up and down, then grunted a ‘hello’ or something close enough anyway.

Niall chucked his backpack to the ground by his bed. He prayed that Zayn would be in one of his quiet moods, leave him in peace to to his History reading, not bring up anything tonight (or ever).

No such luck.

“So Niall,” Zayn started, thumbing through one of his comics and leaning against their bookshelf, voice taking on that tone that people had when they were trying to convince a wild animal to eat from their hand. “We should talk.”

Niall didn’t move, back turned to him. His heart was pounding so loudly he swore he could see the buttons on his shirt jump. He cleared his throat.

“Um. About what?” He managed, just barely.

He could hear Zayn shift and toss the comic book on his desk. “About how you heard me wanking last night.”

Niall nearly fell over.

“It’s a normal urge, right? You don’t think I’m like, a pervert or anything?” Zayn inquired, sounding almost genuinely curious. Niall couldn’t move, staring straight ahead. No, the answer was honestly no, but Niall also didn’t know how he was going to explain why he was acting so strangely about it.

“Um, no, I don’t,” he stammered. It was a start. “It’s- it’s a totally normal thing. I didn’t mean to, um, eavesdrop.” His voice trailed off into a squeak by the end of the sentence and Niall kind of hated himself for it.

Zayn snorted a laugh. “You’re so embarrassed about it! Like you’ve never talked about it with your mates.”

Niall turned then, his brows knitting together despite the raging scarlet of his face. “I haven’t?”

That gave Zayn pause. “What, you’ve never talked about like, wanking or shagging with your mates? What about when you’re all out on a pull?”

Niall’s eyes dropped to the floor. “I don’t do that. I haven’t- I don’t do that.”

Zayn collapsed on his bed with a _flumph_ , bouncing slightly on the creaky mattress. He slumped backwards against the disarray of pillows and blankets, hands folding under his head and eyes trained sharply on Niall as he stood stock-still in the middle of the room like a squirrel in the middle of an open field, unsure of its next move. Niall’s heart was pounding strangely, and he was feeling inexplicably nervous. Nothing had even _happened_. 

“So, you’ve never-” Zayn began suddenly, voice low and even and doing nothing to soothe Niall’s nerves. If anything, the way he was looking at him made him feel even more fidgety and wound up.

Niall cleared his throat, rolling a shoulder absent-mindedly and looking away, eyes drifting to a pile of books at the foot of Zayn’s bed, anywhere but his gaze. He brought his thumb up to his lips, chewing on a hangnail before glancing back at Zayn and immediately regretting it upon seeing the way Zayn was focused on his mouth. He shoved his hand into his pocket, ignoring the sting of torn skin.

“What, like- no, not really. Not ever.” Niall stammered, laughing because it was ridiculous, it was a silly conversation to be having like this. He knew Zayn must… not be like him but that was his business and he respected that. It wasn’t his place to judge and all. But there was something in the way that Zayn was looking at him that made him feel squirmy and hot and nervous. He loved it, a little, having Zayn’s full attention on him like this for once, it made him want to fix his hair and straighten his tie and impress him, but instead he ground the toe of his shoe into the raggedy rug on the floor and cleared his throat again, waiting for… something.

Zayn continued staring at him for a long minute, hazel eyes burning like a pilot light on a stove, dark and searching. He sat up then, suddenly.

“Come here.”

Niall swallowed dryly, feeling the scrape of his throat and almost choking with it. 

“What, like, on the bed?” He said quickly, blinking and trying in vain to string together a coherent sentence in his head. 

Zayn smiled a tiny bit then and just like that, it was like all of Niall’s strings were cut, he could feel the tension in his back relax with it. There was something about the way Zayn smiled that made Niall willing to do anything to make it happen again, so he went without another word to the bed and sat down stiffly on the edge of it.

There was another long pause and suddenly Zayn laughed, just a short little huff of breath that probably should have made Niall feel embarrassed but instead made him feel warm and proud to illicit that reaction out of him. He grinned, only a little wobbly, at Zayn and Zayn grinned right back, warmth in his eyes.

“Okay, now come here. Take my hand.” Zayn said, voice low and rumbly and settling heavy in Niall’s gut, making him blink hard and reach his hand out to accept Zayn’s where it was extended towards him. Zayn’s hand was warm and soft, not calloused like Niall’s was from playing guitar too long, and suddenly Niall hoped that Zayn didn’t mind. Belatedly, he realized he was holding hands with Zayn on his bed and blushed furiously straight to his hairline.

“Zayn-”

“Shh,” Zayn murmured, rubbing his thumb along Niall’s knuckles which was, admittedly, distractingly nice. “Just listen, okay?”

Niall nodded, feeling a little dazed, and met Zayn’s eyes again. Being close to him was like falling under a spell, he felt so floaty and giddy that he could scarcely contain the borderline hysterical laughter that was threatening to escape.

Zayn smiled at him again and leaned forward until they were practically sharing the same air.

“So you’ve never… done anything, right?”

Niall could feel his breath hitch hard in his chest, nervous and a little ashamed for no reason at all, and nodded, eyes dropping to the grey-beige of the blanket beneath them. Zayn clucked his tongue softly and suddenly, the fingertips of the hand Niall wasn’t holding were under his chin and lifting his gaze back up to Zayn’s.

“Don’t be embarrassed, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Zayn said softly, brows knitting together the tiniest bit and Niall took a completely inordinate amount of pleasure in Zayn’s concern of him. He swallowed and nodded as much as he could with Zayn’s hand still holding his chin in place.

“Yeah, I mean, it just- it didn’t- and then I came here, so-” Niall stammered, voice hoarse with nerves and rushing inelegantly out of his mouth. Zayn wasn’t judging him, he knew, but he still felt strange and timid, like he was saying the wrong thing. 

“Makes sense,” Zayn murmured, eyes confusingly dropping to Niall’s mouth again, then back up to his eyes with a little more fire behind them. “But have you wondered?”

“Wondered?”

“Yeah,” Zayn blinked, the shadows from his impossibly long eyelashes fluttering like dark butterfly wings against his cheekbones. “Have you _wanted_?”

Niall swallowed.

“I’ve-” he started, but the words were caught in the bear trap he’d set in his chest to protect himself from these feelings, to hide them away where they’d never be found. If he snared them before they could escape, he would be safe and good and just like his family wanted him to be. Pure and righteous.

“I’ve thought about it.” he whispered, face flushing with shame and dropping back down, eyes squeezing shut.

He felt hands gently rest against his jaw, warm and comforting. 

“Niall, it’s okay, that’s normal, you’re only human.” Zayn said, voice like soft velvet. Was he? He was supposed to be more than that, above those thoughts, better than succumbing to baser desires.

“Feeling those things doesn’t make you less good, and wanting those things doesn’t make you a bad person,” Zayn continued, and Niall could feel him scooching closer to him on the bed, insistently tugging on his chin in an attempt to keep him from curling in on himself like the woodlice that lived in the dusty broomclosets in the back of the church. Niall reluctantly lifted his chin and looked back at Zayn, face still burning red.

“I don’t- It hasn’t seemed like that.” Niall murmured, brows furrowing as his gaze threatened to drop back down to the mattress. 

Zayn stared at him. It was getting a little overwhelming at this point, Niall was tempted to ask him to stop but was too busy revelling in the focused attention to get up and just leave, say goodnight, retire and forget this whole awkward conversation.

“What if I helped?” Zayn murmured, running a fingertip along the edge of Niall’s jaw.

Niall blinked at him, eyes feeling as wide as dinner plates. Helped? What was ‘helped’?

Zayn rolled his eyes a tiny bit rudely and expanded on what he meant. “I could help you, you know, as a friend, with that, and it might make things a little easier for you to deal with, y’know? Take the pressure off.”

Niall blinked twice and then it all came crashing into light like a truck running into a china shop. The only reason he didn’t tumble off the bed and run out of the room to do laps around the school grounds were the manners his mother had beaten into him all his life.

“What, like- I don’t kn- Zayn, you’re, and- I’m- I-” Niall stammered ineloquently, hands clenching and unclenching frantically even as Zayn, who must actually be some sort of saint or angel, calmly shushed him and clasped his hands over his own.

“It’s okay, Niall, if you don’t want to, I won’t pressure you,” Zayn said lowly, eyes meeting his and glittering like chips of amber. “If you’d been having those thoughts, and wanted to take the edge off, I just wanted to let you know I could help. I want to help.”

Niall paused, and the silence felt thick as fog between them.

“Help, how?” Niall asked quietly, before he could stop the words from spilling from his mouth.

Zayn smiled.

Niall felt his hand on his thigh before he registered seeing it move, feeling the dig and drag of Zayn’s thumb on the meat of his thigh.

“Sometimes when you get those thoughts, they’re so distracting that they mess up your normal, everyday life.” Zayn explained, voice inexplicably hushed. Niall felt his eyelids dip at a slightly harder push into his skin. Yeah, that was right, that’s what it had been like today.

“It’s normal, right, like, we’re only human, and it’s natural to have… urges.” Zayn’s full hand was on Niall’s thigh now, hot through his uniform trousers and moving in tiny increments.

“So, sometimes to take the edge off a bit, you have to… indulge.”

Niall could barely contain the whimper that was wrenched from his throat as Zayn squeezed his thigh hard. His head was swimming, roiling like kettle water and he felt flushed and hot all over. Zayn’s words made sense. Of course, he could be speaking Greek and Niall would probably still agree with him what with the way his fingers were digging into Niall’s thigh. Maybe all Niall needed was to get the edge off and he would finally stop thinking about Zayn and Bressie and… and…

Zayn leaned forward, breath tickling along Niall’s jawline. “Niall,” he murmured.

“Yeah?” Niall somehow managed, feeling like he was having an out of body experience.

“Do you want… Do you want me to help you out?” Zayn said, breathless and flushed. His eyes were hard and hot and Niall could feel his resolve crumbling like papier-mâché with each passing second. He didn’t know what was about to happen, but he wanted whatever it was going to be. He wanted to be right here with Zayn on his bed. He nodded, holding his eye contact and setting his jaw. God help him.

Zayn surged forward, hands coming up to rest on the sides of Niall’s head, fingers digging into the skin, his nose brushing against his own. Niall didn’t even have time to take a breath before Zayn was hushed, desperately asking “Can I kiss you, Niall?”

And Niall could barely fully nod before Zayn’s lips crashed against his own. They were hot and dry and smashing hard against his, bruising against his teeth and so delicious that Niall thought he might die.

He groaned into Zayn’s mouth and felt his hands reach back to cup around the back of Zayn’s neck, unbidden, holding him closer and demanding his touch. 

Zayn’s kisses were just like his presence, commanding and harsh and beautiful and somehow, the more you got, the more you needed. 

Niall didn’t know how long they were kissing, it seemed like years, at once dark and punishing and also sweet and tender and he was so overwhelmed that it was all he could do to just let himself be taken away.

He was becoming increasingly aware of the effect Zayn’s touch was having on his body, blood vibrating with heat and want, electricity zinging across his skin with each dragging touch of Zayn’s fingertips. They hadn’t even moved from their spot on the bed, still sitting upright but hands clutching and hanging off one another, desperate to touch as much as possible. 

Zayn pulled away suddenly, ignoring Niall’s whine of protest, breathing hard and pupils blown wide. He looked like a cat in the middle of play, ready to pounce. Did that make Niall prey? It should probably have worried Niall how much he wasn’t concerned about the idea. In fact, it excited him, in a tiny, confusing way.

“How do you feel?” Zayn asked, voice raw. Niall blinked heavily, not expecting the way it made his gut swoop dizzyingly to realize Zayn sounded like that after kissing him. Because of kissing him.

“Um,” Niall started, but didn’t know how to finish. 

Zayn laughed. “Do you feel, y’know, like the pressure’s off?”

Truthfully, whatever pressure had been on before had multiplied tenfold with the way Zayn had been kissing him. Niall squirmed a bit, wishing he could adjust himself in his trousers, which were suddenly wildly uncomfortable. Zayn didn’t miss it for a second and his eyes flicked down, trained on Niall’s lap like twin lasers, and Niall flushed shamefully once more.

“N- no, it doesn’t,” Niall mumbled reluctantly. It was probably supposed to be. Here Zayn was, helping him out, and Niall was sounding ungrateful for it. Like it wasn’t enough. Niall was about to get up, apologize, retreat to his own bed and try to forget this ever happened, when Zayn clasped his wrist and squeezed.

“That’s okay,” Zayn said, teeth flashing in a smile and eyes bright, excited almost. “That’s great.”

Niall could feel his brows furrow, but before he could voice his questions, Zayn’s mouth was back on his and all Niall’s thoughts dissipated like smoke in the air. Zayn was sitting up on his knees now, leaning forward and bracketing Niall’s body with his arms, trapping him in. Niall had never felt so happy to be caught.

Before he realized it, he was leaning back, propping himself up on his elbows to keep from toppling backward onto the bed, and Zayn was matching his movements every step of the way, never more than a hair behind him. Niall blinked up at Zayn, suddenly hyper aware of his body hovering over his, the knee between the vee of Niall’s legs, the way an inky lock of hair had fallen in his face and Niall wanted nothing more than to tuck it back behind his ear.

He felt his hand twitch up to do so, but all thoughts flew out of his head as Zayn’s hand suddenly palmed against his groin and the aching hardness there. A strangled groan wrestled its way out of Niall’s lungs and he fell backward, lying flat on the bed save for his hips bucking involuntarily into Zayn’s grip. Breathing hard, he stared up at Zayn, knowing his eyes were wide, and Zayn stared back carefully.

“You’ve done this before, yeah? By yourself?” Zayn murmured, pressing down just enough to punch the air out of Niall’s lungs. 

“ _Ah_ \- y- yeah, of course-” Niall managed, covering his eyes with his hand and feeling completely and wholly overwhelmed. He didn’t make, like, a habit of it, because it wasn’t right, right? Of course, he’d thought this whole… thing that was happening wasn’t right at one point. It certainly _felt_ right, but that was the point wasn’t it? Just because something felt good, didn’t mean it was okay?

He felt the pressure ease and lift away and only managed to not whimper in protest by biting his lip as hard as he could manage. Fingers nudged gently at the hand across his eyes, and he reluctantly let it be lifted away and met Zayn’s eyes again, knowing he must look a wreck. Zayn smiled kindly at him and leaned down to kiss him softly.

“You’re thinking too hard, I can practically see smoke coming out of your ears, mate.” Zayn teased, poking his cheek. Niall grumbled and chewed on his lip, letting his eyes drop again.

“Sorry, I just- it’s a lot to-... and... I just-”

“Do you want to stop?”

“No!” The firmness of Niall’s voice surprised even him. “I- I just don’t know how to- I don’t know what to say.” He finally bit out, itching to cover his face again. He was all mixed up. He didn’t know what he wanted exactly, but the idea of getting up and walking away from the burning heat of Zayn’s body sounded like a nightmare at this point.

“Okay,” Zayn said softly, blinking down at him and leaning forward to breathlessly press against Niall’s mouth, kissing away the tension there. “You don’t have to know what to say. Just promise me you’ll tell me to stop if you don’t like it.”

That seemed like a distinct impossibility, Niall couldn’t think of anything he wouldn’t like from Zayn, but he nodded regardless. Zayn nodded back at him, grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He leaned forward again, lips tickling the shell of Niall’s ear.

“I’m going to touch your cock now, Niall.”

Niall shivered hard, and was entirely unable to stop a choked-off whine from escaping his lungs.

True to his word, Zayn’s hand wrapped around the curve of Niall’s erection, pressed up against his flies in stark relief, and Niall _did_ moan this time, louder than he meant to, feeling strung out and dangerously close to losing his mind already.

Zayn let his palm, firm and hot even through the fabric of his trousers, rub up and down the shape of him, relentless and maddening and not enough. Niall had, y’know, wanked, it wasn’t like he was entire unfamiliar to the feeling. But it was so _different_ , that it was Zayn’s hand rather than his own, the angle was different and just shy of too hard but it was the best thing Niall thought he had ever felt in his whole life. 

Until, of course, Zayn deftly undid the button on his trousers and split the zipper, getting his hand on Niall with one less barrier between them. Niall clutched at Zayn’s shoulders, breath hitching hard as Zayn tugged at the waistband of his uniform trousers to give him better access. He paused then, and Niall cracked open an eye to get a look at him.

Zayn was staring at Niall in his pants like he was a starving man looking at a three-course meal. It made Niall’s blood run hot and fast in his veins, and he glanced down at himself to see if he could understand what Zayn was seeing in him. 

Niall looked the way he always looked, skinny and pale, save of course for the jut of his erection straining against his pants. There was a wet spot at his head that made the white fabric almost see-through, pinked with what was underneath, and Niall could feel a shivery mix of embarrassment and excitement thrum through him at the sight. He felt debauched, he’d never been this turned on his life, he felt almost sick with it. Glancing back up at Zayn shyly, he was startled to see him already staring at him, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. 

“Can I-” Zayn started, voice rough, and Niall nodded, not even caring what he was asking of him. Zayn groaned, falling forward and kissing Niall hard before working his fingers underneath the band of Niall’s pants and pulling them as far down as they would go with his trousers still stuck around his thighs.

Niall could barely get a breath before Zayn’s hand was wrapped fully around him, skin to skin, already moving and sliding wetly against the tip. It was immediately so heady, and felt so good that Niall felt like he was choking on air.

Zayn’s mouth was at his neck, biting lightly and worrying the skin between his teeth, just enough to sting but hopefully not enough to bruise. Niall wasn’t ready to explain that. Showing up to class with love bites- what would people think? What would-

“Professor Breslin!”

Niall and Zayn froze. The voice in the hallway of the dorm was muffled through their closed door, down the way, and then sure enough, they heard the low rumble of Bressie responding to the voice in question.

Niall wasn’t breathing. All his thoughts had come to a screeching halt, and then picked back up again at triple speed. There were people outside, Bressie was outside, he was just a couple steps away, the door wasn’t locked, he could come in at any second-

The idea of Bressie opening the door, seeing Niall with his pants around his legs and his cock in Zayn’s hand, hit him like a train and it was all he could do to bite his tongue to keep from moaning out loud. His hips snapped forward into Zayn’s grip, desperate and chasing the pleasure and threatening to release. Struggling to regain any sort of control of himself, Niall blearily opened his eyes to see that Zayn was staring at him. His amber eyes were fever-bright and suddenly shrewd, and a grin that Niall didn’t think he liked one bit was tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Niall,” Zayn whispered, hushed and conspiratorial, “You liked that.”

Niall shook his head furiously, but he was betrayed by his gaze snapping quick towards the door as they could hear Bressie and whoever he was speaking to retreat again down the hall.

“You did, you liked hearing Bressie outside, didn’t you?” Zayn murmured, looking like a cat who’d got the cream. “Knowing he could come in at any moment, see you like this-”

Niall moaned for real then, fingers digging hard into Zayn’s shoulders as his hips bucked helplessly against his grip. He felt the rough drag of stubble against his cheek as Zayn tucked his face once more against his neck, biting ruthless kisses along the tendons of his throat and speeding his hand’s work.

“Imagine him coming in here, Niall, seeing what you look like, all wrecked and undone,” he purred, sounding worse for the wear himself, and Niall couldn’t do anything but gasp and cry out in response. “Do you think he’d stay? Watch you get all messy and wet and hear you moan my name-”

Niall felt his back arch, mouth slack in a silent moan as the white-hot liquid pleasure that had been building for so long finally sparked and caught and flooded through him. It pulsed through him like tides, brutal and leaving his limbs quaking with it, blood rushing in his ears and deafening him to his gasping whines. His head was spinning and as he came back to his senses, and he wasn’t completely sure he wasn’t floating inches off the bed.

He was becoming aware that Zayn was cursing under his breath, too far gone to chide him for his language. He was working open his own flies with clumsy desperation, one of his hands shining with slick that Niall was beginning to realize was his own. He thinks he would blush if he has any blood left in his body, or any shame left in his head.

Zayn finally was able to split his zipper, sighing with relief as he got a hand around his own length which _did_ actually make Niall blush again. Zayn moaned quietly as the wetness from Niall on his hand slid without resistance against him, mixing with the wetness at his own tip which was curiously exposed, no skin to hide it. Niall was fascinated by its dark blush, theoretically the same as his own but so different, and before he could stop himself, his own hand was lifting up to wrap around Zayn’s as it worked.

Zayn moaned at the touch, looking down at Niall with dark, hungry eyes and working even faster underneath Niall’s grip until his back bowed and his breath rushed out of his lungs with an oath, and thick streaks of white painted Niall’s belly and mixed with the mess already there.

Niall stared openly as Zayn caught his breath, eyes closed and eyelashes fanning across his impossible cheekbones. He was so beautiful, unguarded and open and exposed, rubbed raw. Niall could barely even think.

Finally, Zayn opened his eyes and smiled down at Niall, eyes warm. 

“Alright?” He asked, voice properly hoarse now. Niall nodded, because he didn’t know what else to do.

Zayn leaned back down and pressed a quick kiss to Niall’s lips before pulling back again and sitting up, grinning wide at him. “What’d I tell you? Just gotta get the pressure off, eh?”

Niall tried to smile and agreed, voice wobbly. It didn’t feel like that, not at all. It felt like whatever pressure might have been there before had just been eclipsed by the weight of Zayn’s body, the scrape of his stubble, the feeling of his lips against his own. 

Niall felt like he’d slaked his thirst with saltwater, leaving him choking and dying for more.


End file.
